News of the Death Servants' appearance spread like wildfire through the Imperial Capital, plunging the city into chaos. Families fled with their belongings, jamming every city gate. Streets overflowed with people and carriages, creating unprecedented gridlock. Over 100,000 residents escaped within three days. Bustling avenues fell eerily silent. Those who remained barricaded themselves indoors.

Under General Fisher’s orders, the Imperial Capital Guard intensified patrols. Yet this only heightened tensions. Rumors of the city’s imminent destruction spread among beastkin slaves. Many were executed—but this only made the whispers more credible.

Those who grasped the true severity, however, were the sages of the Magicians’ Association.

Led by a stoic young mage, Mio and Aimee entered the Association’s hall. The complex arcane apparatus still hummed silently in the lobby, its brass gears glinting in the twilight. They circled the machine and entered the reception room. Oleg, head of the Imperial Capital branch, awaited them. To Mio’s surprise, the sinister necromancer Euphron sat beside him.

"Excuse the intrusion," Mio bowed politely.

"My deepest apologies, Lady Mio," Oleg said smoothly. "We summoned you urgently. Please, take a seat."

"Let’s be direct," Mio sat. "Has the Magicians’ Association prepared countermeasures against the Death Servants? If so, I propose cooperation with the Imperial Army."

"Regrettable," Euphron sneered. "Mortal armies are useless. They’d only hinder us."

"Oh?" Mio raised an eyebrow slightly.

"It’s because you mages act so high and mighty," Aimee snapped, "drowning in suspicious mysticism. Show some sincerity if you want cooperation."

Euphron’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. Oleg shook his head gently.

"Lady Esmeralda," Oleg said, "every mage here has signed a Soul Oath. We cannot disclose any intelligence regarding *Wisdom*. Mortals always seek to exploit ‘cooperation’ to steal the Arcane God Megadon’s secrets. Thus, we speak sparingly—lest words betray us."

"But—"

"Aimee." Mio stopped her, meeting Oleg’s gaze. "I understand."

"Thank you." Oleg’s smile warmed. "Then, Lady Mio, on behalf of the Magicians’ Association, I formally request intelligence on the necromancer Samilian. We offer fair compensation."

"So you intend to confront Samilian?"

"Precisely."

"May I ask why?"

"Samilian is a traitor to our Association," Euphron cut in. "Traitors must die."

"I see." Mio nodded, placing a pyramid-shaped projector on the table. "Lord Oleg, Lord Euphron—I have limited intel. But before my drone was destroyed, it confirmed Samilian’s presence. Here’s the footage."

She activated the projector. Data streamed through the tactical network. Holographic panels unfolded above the table. Oleg gasped softly. Euphron’s brow furrowed. Victor, standing farther back, maintained his stoic poker face.

The drone’s footage flickered to life: a colossal magic circle spun around a cursed altar, pulsing with unsettling violet light. At its center stood a massive cauldron. Inside boiled human souls. Hundreds writhed in the purple liquid, dissolving into formless shadows. Before the altar, a figure cloaked in black chanted, his bone staff glowing with eerie violet energy.

"Samilian!" Euphron bared a vicious grin. "Found you at last!"

"That’s him," Oleg confirmed, eyes fixed on the cauldron. "Disastrous. The madman’s using human souls as fuel—to tear open the gates of Hell!"

The feed cut abruptly—the drone destroyed. In its final frame, the attacker appeared: a bandage-wrapped swordsman grinned savagely, lidless eyes burning like embers.

"Iduchi! He’s involved too."

"This just got complicated."

The two mages exchanged grim nods. Oleg turned to Victor. "Report to Lady Fanna immediately. We need reinforcements."

"At once." The young mage bowed and left.

"Lady Mio," Oleg turned back, "this intelligence is invaluable. Name your price."

"My request is simple." Mio smiled. "Fight beside me. I need the Magicians’ Association’s strength to eliminate Iduchi and Samilian."

Oleg and Euphron’s expressions hardened. They hesitated.

"What a splendid proposal," purred a voice. "I accept."

"Lady Fanna!"

Mio turned. A female mage floated in on an ornate brass-and-silver chair. Her golden hair cascaded to her ankles, shielding her most private parts—but she was otherwise completely naked. Her face seemed barely twenty, yet voluptuous curves radiated mature allure. *Is this appropriate?* Mio wondered. *All vital areas are covered... but she’s still naked.*

"Damn," Aimee blurted, "she’s hot!"

"Oh my~" The mage didn’t flinch. "The current Sword Saint? Such a cute child. Come to my chambers tonight—I’ll cherish you properly."

"Not tonight," Aimee crossed her arms. "I’m guarding Mio."

"What a pity." Fanna’s lecherous gaze raked over Mio’s body. "Praise the Creator! Such beauty—silver hair, crimson eyes, that delicate face... Wahahaha! I’m thrilled! Become my consort, lovely girl?"

Mio frowned coldly. This woman wasn’t just indecent—her very soul seemed rotten.

"Lady Fanna," Oleg interjected hastily, "this is Lady Mio. She provided the intelligence."

"I see." Fanna’s playful mask vanished. "As one of the Three Sages of the Magicians’ Association, I, Fanna van Helsing, offer my highest respects."

"Unworthy." Mio rose and bowed.

"Then tonight in my chambers?" Fanna eyed Aimee. "Both of you—let’s share pleasures."

"I must decline," Mio said firmly. "But Lady Fanna, I seek your *Wisdom* to solve a riddle." She pushed the hologram back to the cauldron scene. "How advanced is this ritual? Specifically—how much time do we have?"

"Oh my..." Fanna’s smile turned bitter. "Human souls hold immense energy. This cauldron forcibly extracts it. If I’m right... we have three days at most."

"And at minimum?"

"Perhaps now," Fanna smirked. "Or... immediately?"

The ground suddenly trembled. A violet beam shattered the Imperial Palace’s dome, piercing the twilight-streaked sky. Cracks spiderwebbed across the earth, swallowing those too slow to flee. Purple light flared from the fissures, racing toward the outer walls. Even the moat’s depths ignited with violet fire. Mio linked to a drone overhead—the feed showed a colossal magic circle forming over the city.

"That madman Samilian," Fanna hissed. "He’s dragging the entire Imperial Capital into Hell?"

"Lady Fanna!" Oleg shouted. "What now?"

"Reinforce the Association’s wards!" Fanna commanded. "Activate the teleportation circle—summon every ally! We have six hours at most. That traitor dies *today*."

She turned to Mio—only to find her packing the projector.

"Mio, where are you going?" Fanna said. "Our branch has the strongest defensive barrier in the city. Stay here. It’s safest."

"I appreciate your shelter," Mio replied, "but I can’t stay. My companions are at the inn. I must rejoin them."

"Oh?" Fanna arched a delicate brow. "Your companions—are they women?"

Mio nodded.

"Perfect." Fanna’s smile returned. "Allow me to lend my strength."

Mio glanced at Aimee, who nodded vigorously.

"Thank you," Mio said. "Lady Fanna—join us."

"Tonight in my chambers, all of you~"

"I must decline. Minors are present."

"Oh my~" Fanna chuckled. "You sound like a fatherly uncle! But... this contrast is charming. I rather like it."

The group departed the Magicians’ Association, racing toward the inn.